


In the Water

by jmcats



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 17:57:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmcats/pseuds/jmcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam stays in to look after a sick, nearly mute Zayn while the others party and he’s not quite sure where this feeling about Zayn comes from… but maybe it’s because it’s always been this way. Leave it to Louis to figure it all out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Water

_With your feet in the air and your head on the ground, try this trick: Spin it._

“Lou… Louis! Louis, would you please come on, yeah?”

The booming voice, thick with a deepness that’s flavored in annoyance and impatience leaves Liam grinning from his relaxed position on the plush couch in their hotel suite. He’s chewing on his thumbnail, hazelnut coffee brown eyes reflecting the smile he’s hiding behind his knuckles as Harry sighs helplessly from where he’s standing near the door, fiddling with the collar of his shirt for the fifth time. Those thick brown curls are left untouched, a quick flick of the head pulling the stray pieces from their position in front of crystalline green eyes and those cherry red lips that Liam is used to viewing with a candid smile are molded into an unforgiving pout. Liam’s biting back a laugh, fiddling with his phone to avoid Harry’s glare.

“Harold, you can’t rush perfection. Oi, we can’t all tumble out of the bed and look quite as fetching as you, now can we? Especially for a bender just so you can get pissed and chat up some random bloke or girl that you’ll snog and put off on Niall or me when you can’t be bothered tomorrow.”

Liam doesn’t hide his smirk when Louis peeks into the room, hands on his hips with greenigh-blue eyes that speak volumes louder than the words that proceeded his entrance. He’s got a curling smile on his lips, daring Harry to reply with more than a drawn out sigh that fizzles past Harry’s plush lips. Louis cocks his head a little, eyebrow arching before snapping his suspenders against his chest like some proud, campish lion in the wild. Harry’s dimples dip a little, a smile chasing his head shake and Liam knows the world is right again — for a moment.

Liam takes a peek over the couch as Louis slips back into the bedroom he emerged from, watches through the open door as Louis rests a hand against a bowed head, Liam’s smile a ghost of what it was. His brow furrows, thumb playing over his bottom lip as he looks on the slumped over, wiry frame sitting on the edge of the hotel bed. That often glowing tan complexion is two shades paler, dark hair no longer styled into a gel-thickened quiff but still stretched and somewhat put together. Elbows rest on knees with eyes on the ground and an impatient sock-covered foot tapping along the ground as Louis plays faithful nurse. Those tattoos inked along his forearm and playing hide-and-seek underneath his loose white T-shirt are the only indication that the ill man is something resembling the Zayn Malik that Liam knows too well.

When his head lifts, eyes squinted to hide just enough of that warmness, Liam struggles not to frown toward Zayn. He can’t find flakes of gold dancing amongst that light brown hue of those hazel eyes like he finds spinning in a bottle of Goldschläger. Zayn rubs at the edge of his nose, mock snort when Louis offers up a mug of tea. The smoke’s rising like ballerinas dancing in the air but Zayn’s shaking his head, muted sigh passing pinkish lips. Liam bites at a smirk, knows Louis has probably soaked the flavor of the tea in one too many squeezes of a lemon and half a bottle of honey; “his own cold remedy tea.” Liam’s certain Zayn would prefer Niall sneak a couple of shots of whiskey instead of lemon into the tea.

“Oi, can we just go mates? How often do we get a few days off to enjoy life. All I want to do is go out, get a proper drink, and chat up some ladies,” Harry groans, palm smacking his forehead with eyes rolling.

“Blokes,” Louis calls out and Liam’s certain that if there was a foreign object light enough for Harry to chuck into the other room at Louis it would’ve cracked Louis’ skull by now.

“Do we have time to grab a snack before we arrive?” Niall wonders, mouth full and words mushed together, peeking his head in from the kitchenette. “Some Nando’s?”

“You’re eating _now_ ,” Liam notes, brow raised but he knows better. He merely shakes his head as Niall shrugs and takes another large bite of his sandwich as he strolls by Harry.

“When is he _not_ eating?” Louis calls out and Harry’s kicking at the carpet, fiddling with his suit jacket like an adolescent.

“Quit taking a piss at me before Harry chokes you,” Niall says but it’s more a garbling of words strangled by a thick Irish accent and Liam can hear Louis’ giggle just below Harry’s deep sigh.

“Whatever. Lou, come on. Quit playing doctor with Zayn,” Harry grumbles, arms folding as Louis prances into the room, hands stuffed into his too tight, rolled up chino’s with squinted eyes directed at Harry.

“Harry-poo,” Louis starts and Liam is already grinning at the way Harry’s grimacing, “Though I’m certain you thought that was quite cheeky and young Zayn would more than certainly get a stiffy from looking at my big bum, I have no interest doing anything other than making sure he’s fine while we’re out, you twat.”

“He’ll be quite all right; Liam will be with him,” Harry declares and Niall’s nodding from behind him, grin wide with his sandwich held high in some victorious pose.

Liam doesn’t respond. Maybe he’s not supposed to. He folds his hands in his lap, nodding at Louis when he feels eyes on him and it’s so close to the truth it’s scary. This was a rare break from the light of the paparazzi, the call of the studio, the pressure of management, the world that engulfed them so many days during the year they lost track of the days that separate April to September. Just a few days to themselves and, this one night, for each of them to get into the city and celebrate much deserved success. But Liam was the responsible one, the caring one that deflected invitations to get out to whatever nameless spot Harry wanted to go to the moment Zayn declined them silently with red-stained eyes, pale cheeks, and it took Louis two seconds to figure out Zayn was sick for Harry to stop shouting at the top of his lungs about Zayn owing him for their last shitfaced night that left Harry being dragged out of some bar by his precious curls.

“Liam?”

Liam barely lifts his eyes for Louis, catches the lopsided frown perched on Louis lips but he’s nodding assuredly, brow rising as he looks on the others. He’s giving Louis a thumbs up and, quite honestly, he doesn’t know whether it’s out of responsibility or natural instinct but he knows he’s not leaving Zayn. It’s a ticking clock in his mind, vice grip on his conscience and he’s twiddling his thumbs as Harry shoots him a smug grin and Niall’s dancing around with his sandwich.

“Get on you lot,” Liam insists, rising slowly from the couch before slipping his hands into his jeans. He gives a quick glance over his shoulder where Zayn sits on the bed, thumb swiping over his phone with those chiseled cheeks tight and fingers drumming over his sweat pants. There’s a piece of the Zayn that Liam adores in the way Zayn’s eyes are a bit wondrous and spaced out when he looks up and Liam’s swallowing the smile prickling against his lips.

“You heard the man,” Harry crows, hands clasping onto the back of Niall’s shoulders, giving him a small shake with that Cheshire-wide smile that wins over all of the women and leaves more than a few lads with butterflies they try to deny.

“Ready Lou?” Niall inquires, mouth still halfway full and Liam’s head is shaking, grin half-bitten by his teeth.

Louis gives Zayn one more look, slow swirl of guilt, before spinning on his heels and smirking at Niall and Harry. “Are you two daft? Harry might be looking to get sloshed but this night would be nothing without someone quite as fit as me, yeah?”

Niall and Harry are snickering with an eye roll and Liam’s watching Harry sling an arm around Liam’s small shoulders, grinning down at the slightly shorter man. There’s a look, birds in the wild, that Liam doesn’t try to translate. He merely watches the two interlock their fingers and it’s something not meant to be secret but it is. Unspoken and, quite justly, intangible in all of its young glory.

Liam’s smiling like carbonation in Ginger Ale as Harry and Louis pick at each other while stumbling out the door. Niall’s leaping up and down behind them, waving to Liam and it’s all a bit silly and teenagers on LSD but it’s them. It’s always been _them_ : playful fights, loud noises, bonding, and a familiar feeling of always belonging to something greater than what could be written or said. Liam’s peeking over his shoulder at Zayn again, solemn smile still on his lips when he catches Zayn’s eyes. There’s exhaustion circling his face and just the small shrug Zayn gives him before that frail frame is falling back on the bed with an arm draped over his eyes leaves Liam with that dip in his stomach he’s never grown accustom to.

_Your head will collapse, but there’s nothing in it._

Hours, maybe a few, seem to roll slow like gravity losing its grip on the world. He’s in the kitchenette picking at one of the Danish’s Niall managed to leave untouched. The silence stains his mind, just the subtle shift of the temperature in the room when the heater clicks on draws his attention once in awhile. He’s chewing on the inside of his lip, phone buzzing against the countertop and his eyes barely give it a look. He sees the image on the screen, the name bold underneath: Danielle. He twists his lips, blinks his eyes away and he’s once more listening for the silence.

It’s not the first call, probably the fourth in just as much time, but he doesn’t have the stomach for it. It’s too tangled, red tape and sharp wires, and he’s certain it’ll be nothing but another shock to his system once the conversation is over. But it won’t give him reason, not even enough justification for the anger or guilt he’ll feel afterward. Their relationship, _former_ relationship, is a consistent mental math problem that he doesn’t have enough values, products, equations to piece together its answer. And maybe this time she won’t want to talk about it, won’t want to know why he still hasn’t discussed it with anyone outside of Louis or Zayn but even they only have the corner pieces to the puzzle, not the ones that solidify the picture in the middle.

Zayn hasn’t said anything, but then again, he hasn’t said anything for hours. Liam knows it’s because his throat is raw, stripped and when he does open his lips, nothing really passes out except for a strained word that sounds nothing like that buoyant lad that Liam’s been clinging to for years. Liam peeks in the room occasionally, finds Zayn curled up on the bed with his eyes shut and phone clasped in his hands like its the one thing that’s going to cure or save him.

There’s something about it: soft, gold skin in the dimmed room with tattoos dancing up his arm and almost raven hair peeled back with just the slightest hint of gel remaining from that short trip he took outside to sneak and buy a pack of cigarettes. His socks are almost half off and his sweat pants hang low on his hips, T-shirt riding up a little to expose a defined hip. Fingers are splayed against the comforter he’s laying on top of and that usual smile that radiates the color in his cheeks is nothing but a shadow yet those pinkish lips are still soft-looking and those lashes are long and dancing like crescent moons against Zayn’s cheeks. There’s a sprinkling of hair riding along that sharp, defined jawline and he knows in a day that hair will be darker, stripping away youth for mystery. Threaded bracelet tugging on his wrist and an untouched pack of cigarettes just near the tips of his fingers. He’s only taking up a quarter of the bed and yet it’s almost if that’s enough for him.

The television is flashing a rerun he isn’t paying much attention to. He’s sipping on one of those expensive hotel bottled waters that he knows he’ll be chastised for drinking later on but he can afford it; _management_ can afford it. He’s slouching on that couch, the color too dark and purplish for his taste but none of that matters right now. He can hear the light sprinkling of rain outside now, eyes closing for a moment because it reminds him of nights in Wolverhampton that seem so long missed. Some of the heavier drops are playing a melody in his mind, fingers against the ivory and ebony keys of a piano. A smile tiptoes over his mouth, deep exhale escaping him.

His peace of mind is a little shaken when he hears soft feet shuffling against the carpet and he blinks his eyes open, catches Zayn shifting a little uncomfortably to his left. His eyes are still a little heavy, fingers dragging casually through that dark hair and that T-shirt is even more wrinkled now.

There’s words trapped in Liam’s throat and he doesn’t know why he’s staring. He’s just watching Zayn a little helplessly as Zayn tugs at the collar of his shirt, playing with the necklace around his neck for a minute before giving Liam that little shrug that unglues Liam.

“Hungry?” Liam asks with a small stutter, scrubbing his hand over his shaven head and was that blush sparking heat against his cheeks?

Zayn opens his mouth to speak but it fastens back quickly, head shaking. It’s a tad bit adorable and, well when did Liam find Zayn adorable in the past few days? Liam nods at him, bittersweet in the moment when Zayn looks down and away from him. It’s not like the brooding Zayn he’s known when Harry tried to take care of him when he was sick. He’s not helpless like Louis tries to make him be or even the slightest bit delusional like Niall says whenever Zayn catches the slightest bit of a cold. It’s a quiet, uncertain Zayn that Liam’s almost certain only he sees.

“Want to watch the telly?” Liam wonders, offhandedly patting to a spot next to him on the couch. Zayn looks it over, eyes asking questions that his throat won’t allow but there’s a hanging uncertainty that drags along Liam’s heart.

Liam’s trying to read all of the thoughts that are doing backflips through Zayn’s eyes. He’s watching Zayn fidget, still not sitting and Liam’s toying with the top of his water bottle with his own quiet uncertainty. But then his mobile is vibrating again, eyes glancing down to the same name: Danielle. There’s a drawn out sigh unconsciously passing through his lips and when he lifts his eyes again, Zayn’s dragging his feet against the carpet as he moves back toward the room, head lowered and Liam quirks an eyebrow at the most unlikely emotion clinging to the air: _disappointment_.

He’s leaning in the doorway to Zayn’s room a little later, hand rubbing absentmindedly against his neck and his skin is still tingly and warm from the heat of the shower he’s escaped minutes ago. His hand shifts upward, over the soft prickles of his hair and Zayn doesn’t even notice him; eyes downcast on his phone with his head bobbing a little, earbud in one ear as his thumb swipes across the screen of his phone. Zayn strings nimble fingers through that deep chocolate, almost ravenous black hair and Liam’s never ever sure why he can be so captivated by Zayn in such quiet moments but he’s staring even though he’s trying hard not to.

There was this thing about dynamics Liam’s almost certain he never quite understood but, conveniently or not, always adjusted to. There was always naturally a great chemistry between Zayn and Niall; childish and commonly devoid of conversation, just looks, stupid high-fives, and laughter, more often incredibly over the top that Liam can’t imagine the two surviving an hour without being doubled over with tears in their eyes and laughter bouncing off the wall. And Liam’s quite certain when the two are left to their own devices, they’re capable of overtaking the world or quite simply destroying it.

Louis and Liam have always had the proper kind of relationship within the group with a silent understanding that everything that this was was incredibly amazing but never so overwhelming that they forgot that life was to exist beyond this. But it had its moments when the natural joy inside of Louis is overwhelming strong that everything that’s silly and ridiculous inside of Liam bursts out with Louis; he’s pretty sure it leaves the others knackered but Liam cannot help the way Louis has always been absolutely mad.

The bond between Zayn and Harry seems more brotherly than any of the other ones. They’ve never been dim about the way the others are but have always maintained a relationship of trust and complete respect that Liam admires. They fancy flirting with anyone because they can; because they know the image the world portrays them to be. And it’s all a bit like a full on moon when they’re together: incessantly wild and smiles brighter than a half-on sunrise. There’s the unquestioning way they tease each other and it’s always that smug look in their eyes, Zayn’s fingers sliding through Harry’s smooth curls, slightest stray hand on a shoulder that reminds everyone that they’re protective of each other for a reason.

It’s inescapable the way they all stopped paying attention to Louis and Harry nearly a year ago. It became almost too complicated to understand once underneath the proverbial sheets but the surface told so much of the story. There’s a silliness in the way that they banter but a cool, uncharacteristically calmness that seems to creep over Harry when it’s only but he and Louis. It’s almost tingly if watched from afar because there’s touches, blatant and smooth, and low conversations where green eyes meet blue and never seem to leave. Louis has a command over Harry that’s never intentional but Harry never seems to deny the way Louis can never be off to him. Liam’s almost certain it’s but a joke when they two often almost snog each other, cameras on or off but then there’s hushed moments later where Louis combs his fingers through tangled curls and Harry rests his head in Louis’ lap as if that’s the place he calls home wherever they are. And Liam almost gets it sometimes because maybe they are each other’s halo of peace in this world but it seems so much more; crimson crushed beauty awaken by just the way Harry’s dimples get deeper and Louis’ smile lasts longer when they’re around one another.

Trouble cascades brilliantly from Zayn and Louis. It’s a bit childish the way the two shuffle through life, fits of giggles and crazy faces. Sometimes it was overwhelming chaos but then the quieter scenes where Zayn leaned on Louis more than anyone and Louis became that older brother Zayn never had. It was loud, broken laughter and rampant yelling and Liam always catches the way Harry’s eyes get a little smaller and he tries not to pull a face when Liam spots him. He wonders if they’re all completely jealous of the way Zayn clings to Louis for a laugh and a good chat but he’s quite certain it’s all flash and substance when he shifts through the fine print. But Liam knows their connection is deep, almost unbreakable, and Louis spends more time ensuring Zayn that life _is_ incredible just because they exist rather than finding a way to find a way to make Zayn laugh.

He has never truly thought about he and Zayn. They’re nothing like Louis and Niall who are incredulously camp and fondly daft about anything normal. They’re electric like too much candy at Halloween. The way Zayn smiles at him, almost like the way he does for others, but there’s a spark behind his eyes and it’s almost as if only they know it. And Liam knows he’s not funny like Louis or perfectly timed like Niall but Zayn laughs at everything Liam says, nose crinkling and it tingles right at the rim of Liam’s stomach. Zayn’s touches are a bit softer on him, rough when others are looking because he has to be, but Liam clings to the way Zayn’s fingers can dance along his neck, glide along his cheek, grip at his hip because it’s comfort in it’s most uncomfortable brilliance. And he doesn’t mean to but he wonders sometimes how Zayn finally drops that cooler-than-meant-to-be act whenever Liam slings an arm around his shoulders. The way Zayn’s head rests on his shoulder or how he finally exhales built up anxiety when Liam’s hand ghosts over Zayn’s, accidental or not. It drags along his heart the moments where he seems to want just Zayn around, winter fresh stinging his skin once Zayn smiles and eases against Liam wherever they are like they’ve all got assigned seating and Zayn’s is naturally next to Liam. They just fit, the quiet ones when everyone else is boisterous; the two that get each other without explanation. And, unintentionally, when Zayn sucks on his bottom lip and skirts a finger over Liam’s lips, it feels better than any moment he’s had with anyone in the past two years.

And everything about that dynamic has managed to scare him lately.

Liam slips into the room, purposeful grin lacing his lips when Zayn glances up, diminutive smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Liam eases down onto the bed, sidles up next to Zayn and rests his head on the headboard. Zayn’s still glancing at him, silent, but Liam ignores it to snatch up Zayn’s phone, index finger swirling on the screen to change the song and he settles on some hip hop song, wild grin when Zayn’s eyes light up, tiny dancing fires in his irises. Liam just exhales softly, lets Zayn ease an arm around his shoulders and settles naturally into the quietness of the environment.

He can hear the beat of the song from the hanging earbud, the soft drumming of the rain outside, and Zayn’s breathing, a few stray coughs racking Zayn’s chest and Liam could care less if Zayn had a cold or the flu; he’s staying right here. Zayn’s foot rubs against his own, the soft material of his sock easing over the skin of Liam’s foot. Zayn’s warm, almost hot, but it’s barely noticeable when blood pricks Liam’s cheeks, staining them pink when Zayn’s hand falls in his lap, fingers tapping along to the beat of something sounding like Kanye West and Jay-Z. Liam thinks to trace his fingers over Zayn’s knuckles, doesn’t know why but it feels right. His hesitation gets the best of him and he’s certain his eyes are blown wide and his mind is on a downward spiral of too much thought.

Liam closes his eyes for a moment, breathes in Zayn. It’s that heady scent, bottom lip securing behind teeth as he remembers each layer of it. Some days Zayn smells of coffee, black and devoid of all that whipped cream and extra decoration Harry sometimes adds to his. There are times, more often than not, Zayn smells of fresh cigarettes and mint. It’s the smell he grew accustom to years ago, just kids trying to sing and be something brave. There’s times when Zayn smells of citrus and sharp cologne, those moments after a shower when his hair still down and Liam learns that, for some unexplained reason, he seems to be the only one who can actually touch Zayn’s hair, pull his fingers through it without Zayn even flinching. And it’s a secret agreement because Zayn seems to be the only one that Liam doesn’t mind kisses on the cheek from; doesn’t treat it like some kind of immature prank that leaves him scoffing and wiping them away.

Zayn’s tickling his side and Liam’s eyes blink open, head shaking. He finds Zayn grinning, perpetually big and contagious. It’s like a Robyn song — electrically charged and smile inducing in ways Liam can’t describe. He glances to the phone held in front of his face, reads over the text message from Niall: _drinkin a pint for u mate!_

Liam’s brow raises, crooked grin on his lips because he’s quite certain a drunk Niall only means impending disaster in the most exciting way. A quick swipe of Zayn’s thumb pulls up an image of Louis grinning mockingly and then a message from Harry underneath: _Mollie from the Sats here. To shag or not to shag? Miss you Zanny!_

Fingers are dancing over Liam’s buzzed head and he barely notices when he lifts his eyes back to Zayn who’s head is still bobbing to the music, looking at him with an almost virginal smile. It’s stinging along Liam’s skin, the way Zayn’s eyes are golden-rimmed and it’s the first time in hours where Zayn almost seems himself. And he doesn’t notice his toes have been tickling along the bones of Zayn’s ankle until Zayn shifts a little in the bed and nothing about this feels out of place for them. Not until Liam actually thinks about it.

And he’s thinking and collapsing on his heart and Zayn’s still there just being himself, tongue licking over dry pink lips.

“You need to eat, Zayn. I’ll order us some take away,” Liam says suddenly, his body no longer tingling. He feels his palms sweating and Zayn’s noticing his twitchiness. It’s a bit unbecoming but he slides away from Zayn, stumbles off the bed and tries not to pay attention to that frown that starts to capture Zayn’s lips. He doesn’t read too much into the scowl that starts at Zayn’s brow, sharpens his eyes and curls his fingers into fists.

Liam’s nearly tripping out of the room, pulling his phone from his pocket and when did their friendship needs this much analysis. He’s texting Louis without a thought, thumb hitting all the wrong keys and it takes him nearly ten minutes before it’s finished: _is there something wrong with us? zayn and me?_ It feels stupid after its sent, crawling against Liam’s skin because, really, he was asking Louis this? He was asking _himself_ this? But then his phone is buzzing in his hand almost immediately: _YES MATE!!! You 2 get on right??? Youre in love but not together. Its brill & annoying. Just snog him already… ;)_

Liam balks at his phone, nearly drops it. He drags his hand over his head, wishes for once he still had that fringe of hair to latch his fingers onto and tug. Nothing inside of him is settled and when did his heart start racing this fast? His fingers are on fire and he’s almost biting his bottom lip raw. His knees are a little weak and he doesn’t know why he wants Zayn’s arms around him to keep him warm. But that was instinct, right? When he had a little cry, Zayn comforted him. When it was him sick, Zayn was the one making awful tea and joking with him for hours just to make him smile in spite of the way Liam’s body ached. And Niall was the claustrophobic one but suddenly he felt too closed in.

Yet, somewhere on the very inside of his heart, the idea wasn’t the worst thing Louis had ever suggested. It left him a bit nauseous because he didn’t know when he stopped understanding himself but it must’ve been somewhere between “Vas happenin’” and finding himself watching Zayn’s every move during the tour. It must’ve crashed and broke his barriers sometime after he realized he might as well give in and let Zayn touch him almost every second or when Zayn never smiled at anyone when he just woke up, yet he would for Liam. It could all be rubbish but Liam keeps re-reading that message from Louis, massively disturbing but it was in the way Liam keeps peeking toward Zayn’s room to see if, just maybe, this feeling is going to dissipate and Zayn’s going to tell him this is all a bunch of fucking gibberish made up by Louis to tease them.

And Christ, Liam’s palms were sweaty and his head was spinning even when he was sitting back on the couch, head between his knees just trying to breathe normal strips of oxygen without thinking about Zayn Malik.

_And you ask yourself: Where is my mind? Where is my mind?_

He answers the next time Danielle calls. Lets it ring more times than he should but curiosity gets the better of him and, without question, he needs _something_ to rid his mind of what Louis said, what he’s feeling about all of it, and why he’s well into this idea of snogging Zayn.

The conversation isn’t much and it’s more of silence and breathing for awhile but none of it hurts or aches like usual. Danielle’s voice is soft, kind even and only some of her words are short, spiting but he has to look beneath the surface to catch their meaning. There are a few laughs and Liam’s shocked when he actually smiles at the way she talks about his kindness, genuineness, and sweet nature toward the boys. She’s a little slow, choked when discussing them but she’s laughing again, imagining how great life will be beyond this moment in the universe. He’s a bit aloof when she wonders where his heart will go next but the subject change is so general he doesn’t have to elaborate before she’s almost rushing him off the phone. There’s no lingering this time and she’s quite polite, dangerously so. She doesn’t say she misses him this time, doesn’t even bother to remind him that things are unsettled. They are. She assures him she’ll still call and it’s almost as if part of this never was; he’s scared that he might be alright with that.

It takes him a little while to step back into Zayn’s room. It’s late enough and he’s certain Zayn’s probably sleep but the room is dark and the bed is empty. The comforter is strewn over the bed and the pillows are scattered but Zayn’s nowhere on it. The terrace door is open, the thin curtains swaying back and forth with the gentle gust of the wind outside. Liam follows the pungent smell of cigarette smoke and Zayn’s back is to him, leaning on the rail with his eyes on the city’s skyline.

Zayn’s humming, the sound a bit forced and broken but Liam can still make out that gentle voice underneath the sickness. It rakes along his mind, eyes closing for a second. The sound of Zayn’s voice reminds him so much of the tea his mother would make him as a teenager: the right mixture of honey stirred with a silver spoon so that it soothes his stomach and aches down his throat in the most pleasant way. The way Zayn can look at him sometimes when he sings, like Zayn knows something Liam should know. It’s the way he doesn’t let up, gentles that smooth voice right against Liam’s soul and Liam’s too fascinated most times to notice Zayn doesn’t sing like that to Louis or Harry or Niall.

The rain has ceased, just a gentle mist of thin droplets dancing in the slow moving fog. Liam sucks in his bottom lip, heart touches the bottom of his stomach again when he steps outside, finds a place next to Zayn. Zayn’s taking a long drag of the cigarette, holding in the smoke for a long minute before blowing it from the side of his mouth, giving Liam a once over that leaves the younger man terribly uncomfortable and maybe Zayn doesn’t want him there now. Maybe he’s alienated Zayn just enough; something he’s rarely able to do. He sighs, fingers clenching the metal railing for a moment before he’s pushing away because, he knows, when Zayn is angry there’s only room for him to breathe and be.

Fingers grip his wrist as he turns to leave, hold tightly. Liam looks down and wants to etch his fingers along that ying yang symbol along the inside of Zayn’s wrist. He wants someone to whisper that that would be okay, natural even. Zayn’s looking at him, jaw clenched and brow furrowed but his eyes are almost pleading. There’s words written in the brown, the lights of the city dancing off of Zayn’s eyes and small droplets of the fading rain have stuck to Zayn’s long lashes. He can still see the faint hairs along Zayn’s upper lip, just beneath his chin from the hair growing in. Teeth are gnawing at Zayn’s bottom lip and why is there ache beating against him at the thought of walking away?

He knows Zayn still can’t talk but he humors the other man, stays on the terrace with him. His fingers find the rail again and he finds something along the city’s streets to look at rather than that halo of blurred light dancing around Zayn’s thin frame. Their shoulders brush on and off and Liam tries not to think anything of it. His heart beats like the synthesizers buried underneath the sounds of guitars in one of those great love songs from the 80’s. He doesn’t jump when Zayn’s pinky rubs gently along the back of his hand, body finally relaxing because that was naturally them. The touches were nothing other than comfort in this dark, dark avenue of life they have to lead.

It felt like paint-by-numbers in this silence, the way he wants to scoop the stray strands of hair that are against Zayn’s forehead and put them back into place. He thinks of that faded blonde section of hair that his fingers sometimes played along when no one else paid them attention. Zayn’s foot is tapping against the ground, the same cadence of whatever he was humming before. He’s blowing pretty billows of smoke against the fog and Liam doesn’t want to move, doesn’t need to escape the smell of the burning nicotine. The air is almost stiff, too cool now but it’s warmed by the way their quietness ebbs like the best kind of crashing wave.

Liam exhales heavy before finally saying, “I had a chat with Danielle. Wasn’t awful but it was terribly… _different_. She’s still crazy about you lot but I’m pretty sure she’s sorted things out. Think she’s moved on. Doesn’t even miss me, but how could you miss a bloke like myself? Not when I ended things.”

Zayn stubs out the cigarette and Liam wonders if he’s even paying attention but then there’s a hand on his arm, smoothing upward to give Liam’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. There’s costly concern in Zayn’s eyes and Liam nods, understands what Zayn wants to say but can’t.

“I’m a bit surprised she didn’t tell me to get stuffed,” Liam laughs out but it’s drowning in unexpected misery. He inhales sharply, lets it settle in his belly and Zayn’s fingers are tickling along his neck, gentle and assuring. “But I think she gets it. I wonder if _I_ do?”

Zayn’s biting along his bottom lip, pinkish and full and Liam squeezes his eyes shut because thinking about those lips is incredibly unhealthy. He feels the mist stick to his face, lets Zayn’s fingers stroke his skin, expose him just underneath his thoughts. He remembers talking to Zayn for the first time, can’t help the way everything feels so familiar whenever he steps into a McDonald’s, no matter what part of the world.

“How about a cup of tea?” Liam suggests, eyes batting open and Zayn’s smiling at him. The smile is returned, almost doubled by Liam and he follows that small nod Zayn gives him with a comforting exhale. He turns a little, lets Zayn’s fingers slip over the birthmark on his neck, his own hand resting on Zayn’s hip. It’s all perfectly human, right? This existence between them, the one that Louis thinks he knows. But he doesn’t. No one does and, damn it all, Liam isn’t trying to dig beneath every bit of it to sort it out.

He merely grabs Zayn’s hand and yanks him back into the hotel room, safe from the cold that’s starting to thunder in the night’s air and away from that fog that isn’t making Zayn the least bit less attractive on some level that Liam doesn’t know about because despite his willingness to admit Zayn is a fit lad, he’s never really looked at Zayn _that_ way.

Liam finds it hard to remove the sun-bright grin on his lips. He’s managed to get Zayn to swallow down a whole cup of tea and even eat a little bit of food he’s managed to scrounge up from room service. He’s leaning against the headboard of Zayn’s bed again, fingers rubbing along his smile like it’s unimaginable. His feet are crossed at the ankle and he’s done away with everything Louis’ text has created inside of him. He’s merely grinning, staring off into space while Zayn lays next to him, quiet and comfortable on top of the comforter.

Liam’s thumbing through pictures on his phone when he feels the bed shake a little. He glances down, watches Zayn shiver a little before calming again. The room isn’t chilled anymore from the night’s air but Zayn shakes again, a little more violent, small tremors following and Liam reaches a hand down, fingers dancing along Zayn’s forehead. His skin is hot, flushed and Liam sinks down into the bed.

“Zayn?”

Zayn shakes his head and coughs, eyes half-lidded. His teeth chatter a little and Liam’s lips twist sideways, thumb sweeping along Zayn’s temple.

“Are you cold?” Liam asks and there’s a quick nod following, Zayn’s arms wrapping around himself.

“C’mere,” Liam insists without thinking, arms reaching out and dragging Zayn the short distance between them. He’s scooping Zayn into an embrace, holding the smaller man. He bites back a smile when Zayn tangles their legs together and buries his face in the crook of Liam’s neck. A hand holds the back of Zayn’s head, the pads of his fingers shifting over the shorter hair there as his other man rubs slow and smoothly along the small of Zayn’s back. He tries to quiet Zayn’s shaking, holds a little tighter and Zayn’s trying to mumble something against his skin but it never comes out.

Liam can feel the sweat break against his own forehead. Zayn’s incredibly warm and all the clothing and heat from the room is a bit too much but he just eases a sweaty palm along Zayn’s arm until he knows Zayn is asleep.

His thumb traces along tattoos stained against amber skin. It sweeps over the microphone, tracing the chord across Zayn’s wrist, dancing with careful fingers across the “Zap!” before resting on the fingers crossed on Zayn’s forearm. There’s numbers here and there and if Liam’s cautious he can find that right spot along the skin of Zayn’s arm where that puzzle piece sits. His fingers shift a little lighter when Zayn inhales deep and sighs out a breath, tiptoeing until they slip beneath the collar of Zayn’s shirt to outline the Arabic tattoo along Zayn’s collarbone. They creep backward, blindly feeling the fantail along the back of Zayn’s neck.

Liam’s lips press to Zayn’s forehead, never kissing but steadying themselves there hoping Zayn’s skin will cool. Zayn’s shifting in his arms again, pulling closer and he misses the part where Zayn grabs his hand, tangles their fingers together. He snickers against Zayn’s head, eyes closing as he holds Zayn a little looser. There’s nothing pretentious about this, this feeling overcoming him. Zayn’s thumb is sweeping over the back of his hand, across his knuckles and the weight of the world seems to shift, dip down in a way that doesn’t make Liam uncomfortable for once.

“Sleep,” Liam whispers but he knows his words a tad late. Zayn’s breathing has already evened out and he’s not untangling his fingers from Zayn’s anytime soon. His eyes are shifting closed and he can’t help but say softly, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Zayn.”

He hears when they come back to the hotel a few hours later, winces a little at the noise. He shifts in the bed, doesn’t move too much because Zayn is murmuring, clinging to his shirt with his lips tickling Liam’s throat. Liam grins a little, bats his eyes open in the darkness and, thankfully, he’d closed the door before getting into Zayn’s bed earlier.

Zayn’s kicked off his socks and his bare feet glide along Liam’s, toes brushing Liam’s ankle. Their fingers are still intertwined in some kind of imaginary promise and Liam swallows, tries to rid himself of that cottonmouth feeling from deep sleep. Zayn’s skin has cooled and Liam can’t help running a hand down Zayn’s bare arm in some mock form of gratitude.

He can hear Niall’s drunken rambling and, really, it’s kind of funny in an offbeat way but his Irish accent is far too thick now for Liam to piece together all the words. He can hear Louis and Harry chanting, singing some song completely off key and loud and Niall might be barking about a hangover or Louis snogging Harry for fifteen minutes in the cab on the way back but Liam doesn’t bother enough to care. It’s inconsequential when Zayn’s hand rests on his hip and there’s nothing completely off or strange about it.

“You want a repeat Horan? If I can’t get my willy wet by a bird from the Saturdays, I’ll surely bed a member of our troupe, understand?” Liam shakes at the sound of Harry’s booming voice, words slathered together with a slur and he knows Harry’s motives must be buried beneath this mock bravado and far too much alcohol.

“Oi! Oi! No more Harry,” Louis squeals and there’s a thud and more laughter from the otherside. “I swear your twitter followers would be worried about what you’re going on about if I didn’t nick your mobile.”

“You lot are all sixes and sevens,” Niall calls out, squeaking laughter than Liam smiles at, eyes shutting once more.

“Shut it Horan or I’ll bloody…”

“Sod off Styles,” Niall barks with a giggle and there’s more clanging and was that the couch flipping over?

Liam feels the strip of light ripping against his eyelids. His eyes blink open a little, squinting as he looks on Louis peeking into the room, eyes blinking with a blank expression. Zayn doesn’t move, stays sleep buried in Liam’s strong arms and he wonders if this is a mistake? Will it all shiver and break before Liam adjusts to how wonderful it is? Can he swat it away later as just youthful wonder that wasn’t meant to be anything more than comfort? Because he could roll out of the bed, join the others and beg Louis never to mention any of it but then Louis is smiling, damn him. It’s a shit-eating grin and Liam doesn’t let the smirk curling at the corners of his lips overtake him. And he doesn’t change his position on the bed, doesn’t release Zayn when Louis is nodding, lips twitching like he wants to say something but he doesn’t because Liam spots a sock flying past Louis’ head and more shouting from outside.

Louis is gone and the door is shut once again and Liam curls back into Zayn, a little more purposeful now. He’s rubbing his lips along Zayn’s forehead, feels Zayn smile against his Adam’s apple and sleep rides a gentle wave against his body.

This doorway is becoming home for him. The morning is still young and he’s barely wiped away the sleep from his eyes. He’s leaning against the doorjamb, looking on Zayn as he slowly sips on coffee from the mug clutched between both hands. Zayn’s head is bowed and his elbows are balancing on his knees with his legs seated Indian-style on the bed. The shadow along Zayn’s cheeks, just along his chin are darker now but his skin is glowing, no longer riddled with that paleness that made Liam’s stomach a little sick. A tongue swipes over lips and Zayn’s inhaling the smoke swirling from the mug.

The room is scarcely quiet, Niall complaining of needing some nosh and Harry dragging him out with a hand over his eyes an hour ago. Louis’ been tidying up the living area, quietly apologizing every few minutes while rearranging furniture and rifling on about Harry’s lips and too many Jägerbombs and something about Niall chucking one of Zayn’s favorite shoes at Harry’s head. But none of it feels out of the ordinary for any of them. Not even the way Liam is still doting over Zayn even after he woke up to Zayn watching him calmly in his sleep like a newborn fascinated with their first glimpses of the world.

Liam skids sock-covered feet into the room, kneels down in front of the edge of the bed where Zayn sits, smile soft and endearing. Zayn offers him a tiny smile back, resting the mug of coffee on the edge of the nightstand. Liam rests hands on Zayn’s knees, teeth securing his bottom lip. There’s something that should be said but it isn’t. It wastes away on the sideline as Zayn watches Liam, caution barricading his own thoughts behind his eyes. And Liam’s mind shifts to the way it felt to hold Zayn; different from Danielle, better than anything he’s known.

“Li,” Zayn chokes out, eyes a little wide because he’s a little uncertain of his own voice. He’s rubbing his throat and Liam feels a tickling sensation down his spine. “Liam, thank you.”

Liam nods, his own throat constricting. “Welcome Zayn.”

“And Liam,” Zayn begins, eyes dancing away and his cheeks are betraying him with redness. “I want you to know…”

Liam doesn’t bother to let Zayn finish. He has a hand on Zayn’s cheek, rubbing gently and he’s incling forward before Zayn’s eyes meet his again. He’s easing his mouth against Zayn’s, tentative about his motions and he’s doing a cannonball into his emotions. Zayn’s eyes are a bit wide, blown like a rippling fire, but they slowly slide shut when Liam’s lips begin to move. Liam’s mouthing his thoughts against Zayn’s slightly chapped lips, acidic taste of slow roasted coffee beans against his tongue when it slides into Zayn’s mouth. It’s the house of cards tipping over when Zayn’s hand slides to the back of his head, holding him there and Liam’s trying to steady himself with hands firm against Zayn’s knees and resting on his haunches as their heads tip and the kiss slides with a tinge of artistic freedom.

Zayn is a little reluctant to let him pull back, hand still cradling Liam’s head as they exchange gentle kisses that turn into pecks and silly smiles. Liam can feel his heart choking his intake of oxygen, trying to swallow it back down as Zayn’s grin quadruples in seconds. That assured coolness he carries, cigarettes in his back pocket with varsity jackets and a walk that moves like he dances even though Liam knows he doesn’t fades away and Zayn’s but a soft, genuine person Liam’s been trying to get the world to understand and known for years.

“It’s about time you two did this proper,” Louis calls from the doorway and Liam jumps a little in surprise, catches Harry and Niall grinning from behind Louis with laughter platooning in their eyes. There’s a smugness in Louis’ expression and Liam wants to hate him but he can’t. Not now. “That didn’t hurt you any, yeah? Waiting on you two to sort it out and what not has been driving me mad. Knew you lot couldn’t be that daft. You two together certainly is the dog’s bullocks. Smashing, right?”

“Oh come hither cupid and let ‘em be,” Harry insists, arms slung around Louis’ neck and the smaller man is being drug backwards with Harry’s red lips pressed to his cheeks.

There’s thudding that follows and it’s a bit endearing but Liam’s eyes find Zayn’s again. He’s watching Zayn chew on his thumbnail, nerves coiling and Liam’s soul burns with excitement. He chases the feelings soaking in his skin, brushes calloused fingers along Zayn’s chin. He pushes up, grins at the way Zayn’s eyes are already slipping closed before he’s gentling a kiss to Zayn’s lips again.

“I’d miss a bloke like you. Every day,” Zayn whispers between kisses, hand a little more forceful against the back of Liam’s neck this time. “I just wanted you to _notice_ me Liam.”

“Always did,” Liam says with a curvy smile, giggling when Zayn rubs the tip of his nose against Liam’s. He doesn’t dance around the thought of pushing Zayn back and mouthing every thought of Zayn against that golden skin until Zayn gave in. He settles for whispering against Zayn’s lips, “I just didn’t realize my mind wasn’t chatting with my heart. Quite a shame.”

Zayn’s nodding, lips and tongue running after Liam’s mouth. Merry-go-round excitement flushes against Liam’s heart and he isn’t paying attention to any of the shouting from outside the room. He’s merely lingering in this; this part of existing where Zayn is the starring attraction, head and heart be damned.

_Way out in the water, I see it swimming. Where is my mind?_

**Author's Note:**

> First time taking a stab at writing Zayn/Liam. It’s the longest piece I’ve written in awhile. I hope I got it right but, then again, this could be utter crap. Hopefully its enjoyable on some scale and if you do enjoy this, _please_ drop me some feedback or share it with others. Excuse my first attempt at writing English humor, dialogue, and the lot. I beta my own work so, hopefully, it's not a complete mess of mistakes and bad grammar.
> 
> Lyrics are taken from “Where Is My Mind?” by the Pixies.


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